We are all Fools in Love
by Mighty Queen of Drama
Summary: Éponine Thenadier always thought she'd never be truly loved. Merely a way to get money to her father, and second best to Marius. She is beaten, abused and ignored – far cry from that of handsome, charismatic Enjolras with whom she begins an unlikely friendship. He is protective of her, and looks after her well. But her father needs her and they should know; all is never as it seems
1. She who died for love

**So hey, I'm back! Did you miss me? The title is a quote from Pride and Prejudice. I've nothing more to say other than this is a slightly Au Les Mis fic mainly inspired by a hellofalot of 'what ifs' (Moviverse mostly, with extra added from what I've read), will be shipping Enjolras/Éponine, so if you no likey, usey the backy buttony welly.**

The bruises were beginning to bloom. Blue, brown, even patches of yellow, blossoming around welts and scars on her arms. Éponine was used to it. Her father, Montparnasse and the other gang members beat her and 'Zelma regularly. _'And yet I still feel the pain,'_ she thought ruefully. Silver tear tracks cleared away a path through the grime on her face.

A soft knock on the door. "It's Azelma," Éponine's sister whispered through a crack. Éponine pushed herself up from where she had been curled on the floor, and sat against the wall. "Come in."

Azelma backed into the dark bedroom, carrying a tray with a bowl of water and a cloth. "I've brought something t'clean you up," she said. Éponine groaned with the effort of shifting her body. Azelma knelt beside her, and began dabbing at the bleeding cuts with the warm water. "What did they do to you?" she asked quietly.

"Just beating. I don't know why. 'Zelma, I wish I could just leave. I wish I was brave like Gavroche. But I'm not."

"Don't blame yourself. Gavroche had it much worse than either of us. Turn over."

"I know... But what if they decided to do worse than the beatings? I've heard Papa talking to Montparnasse..." Éponine sounded worried.

"Knowing you 'Ponine, you wouldn't let that happen," Azelma tried to point out the brighter side.

Éponine attempted a smile which turned out more like a grimace. "And they'd just let me be? I doubt that's likely."

Azelma stopped speaking and dabbed in silence. After a while Éponine struggled up.

"Where are you going?" Azelma steadied her sister.

"I don't know. Nowhere. Anywhere. Just away from here for a while."

Azelma nodded, understanding her sister's need to escape. "Take my shawl." She was offering the only good piece of clothing she owned. Normally Éponine would have protested against such an offer, but she was too exhausted, too grateful to refuse. "Thank you."

* * *

Rain pattered around Éponine as she shuffled through the streets, a constant tattoo, which was comforting in an odd way. She found her feet taking her down the familiar paths that led to the Café Musain, paths she had taken many times before. It was the meeting place of a group of students. A group of students who planned to lead a revolution and create a better France. Her little brother Gavroche idolized them, and she had talked to them once before. Except Marius. Her heart did a little dance whenever she saw him, and following him everywhere earned her her nickname of 'Marius' shadow'. They talked often and she had long accepted that he didn't see her that way. But it still hurt her when he raved about Cosette, his lovely little Cosette, pretty Cosette, perfect Cosette. The Cosette she had teased as a child, been friends with as a child. Yet Éponine couldn't bring herself to hate the Lark. Cosette's name alone brought a radiant smile to Marius' face, a rare and enjoyable sight to Éponine.

The hum of chatter that came from the Café alerted Éponine to her location. She pulled the shawl over her head and slipped inside, keeping to the walls so she wouldn't be noticed.

* * *

The group of students known as Les Amis de l'ABC were gathered in the back room of the Café Musain, drinking and talking. Grantaire was, as per usual, the most drunk of them all, but miraculously still managed to stay awake and reasonably alert. Enjolras, their leader, wasn't giving one of his passionate speeches about Patria today. No, instead he was sat in a corner, reading through a book while he tried to block out the rest of the noise. Especially Marius sitting in front of him, going on about Cosette's hands. Her hands for goodness sake! He was completely and utterly besotted with a girl he had only recently met. Enjolras was the only one of Les Amis who didn't let his life revolve around women. Patria was his one mistress, and he was perfectly content.

A small figure shuffled through the door. She had a shawl covering her head, but as Courfeyrac and Grantaire hurried over to greet her, their arms wrapped protectively around her, Enjolras realised that it was that Thérnadier girl. The one who always followed Marius around. What was her name?... Éponine. He didn't know her, really. They had never spoken because there had never been reason to. He didn't have any opinion of her. But he knew she would soon approach his corner, to talk to Marius. That was the only reason she came to the Café. _'She isn't in anyway interested in the Revolution,'_ he mused. Even he, Antoine Enjolras, who wasn't known for his awareness of human emotion, could tell that the girl was hopelessly in love with Marius.

"And they are long and graceful. White as lilies and delicate as rose petals…" Marius was _still _going on about Cosette.

"Marius, I appreciate your description, but look," he pointed at Éponine, walking towards them.

"Éponine!" Marius exclaimed.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Marius," Éponine seemed weary as she lifted her hand in greeting. "Monsieur Enjolras,"

"Éponine, I would really love to stay and talk," Marius was now getting up from the table. "But I have urgent business to attend to."

'_Urgent? But you've been talking to me for the past five minutes,' _Enjolras was slightly annoyed. Apparently Éponine was too.

"But Monsieur! Surely you can spare two minutes?"

"I'm afraid I can't, I've only just realized the time,"

'_Of course.'_

"But, Éponine? Can you do something for me?"

"I… Of course Monsieur."

"Can you give this message to Cosette for me?" He handed her a creamy piece of folded paper, the name _Cosette _scrawled across in a spidery, looping hand.

Éponine sighed quietly and slipped the letter into her shawl.

"Thank you, Éponine," Marius hugged her. She stiffened. "You're a wonderful friend." All she seemed to hear was the word _friend._ Marius left.

"Well, Monsieur Enjolras, I suppose I should leave also. _Au Revoir_."

"Madamoiselle-"

"Please, Monsieur. Éponine is fine. I am no _Mademoiselle._" She spoke with a proper, pretty French – quite odd, he thought, for a girl raised in the slums.

"Éponine. Would you like to sit here and… talk?" He didn't know why he asked her that. It must have been out of pity for the _gamine_, who seemed to have few friends outside of the café.

"Monsieur… It seems hardly proper that I… and I must deliver this… and my family will be…" Eventually she gave up on her excuses. They were feeble and, well… talking to Monsieur Enjolras couldn't be _that _bad. She pulled out the chair that Monsieur Marius had previously been sitting on, and perched lightly on the edge. "So… Monsieur… Why would you want from me?"

That took him by surprise. What did he want from her? "I… I suppose I want to know what you think of the revolution."

"The Revolution? I admire your courage and your vision." That was all she would say.

"Have you heard of the story of Eponina?"

"Eponina?"

"Your namesake. She was the wife of Julius Sabinus, who was the leader of a rebellion against the Roman Empire. They were executed together."

"I…" Éponine didn't quite know how to respond. "I suppose that's romantic in a way…"

"Her life... She shouldn't have had to die for him."

This irritated Éponine. "She did it for love, no? Surely that counts for something?"

"Your point has merit. But why die for something that may end badly?"

"You are willing to die for the revolution."

He allowed a small chuckle to escape his mouth. "Well, Éponine. You certainly know how to debate."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

The next few hours they spent, talking and befriending each other. The back room of the café slowly emptied, until it was just them and a few others – barmaids mostly.

"Monsieur… It's getting late and I still have to deliver this letter."

"Do you need accompaniment?" It was the gentlemanly thing to do.

"No, but thank you Monsieur. For the company and talk as well."

"You're welcome, Eponina,"

"_Au revoir."_

"_Au revoir."_

She was outside when she realised. He had called her _Eponina._ Not Éponine.

* * *

The next day Enjolras was, once again, at the Café Musian. He was working on another speech, one to address the people with, and also studies for university. Joly and Combeferre were with him, also studying and he was certain that Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Bahorel were off with 'This week's ladies' as he had began to refer to those _grisettes _as. Suddenly, loudly, the door burst open. A _gamin _came running up to Enjolras' table. It was Gavroche, the street urchin that _Les Amis _had practically adopted as a little brother. He was panting heavily.

"M'sieurs, M'sieurs, come quickly!"

"Gavroche!" Combeferre stood and took charge of the situation. "What is it?"

"My sister…she's badly hurt sir, please, please hurry!" Gavroche was close to tears.

"Your... _Sister_?" Enjolras was confused. They all were. "Where?"

"Follow me."

Gavroche lead them out of the café and down a series of alleys. He finally stopped, and was kneeling by a bruised and bloodied body. One that was familiar. Éponine.

**I really didn't want to leave it there... I'm having so much fun, it's amazing. Expect chapter 2 soon (probably before anyone has read this... Ah well). I'd just like to thank the other Éponine/Enjolras writers out there for being awesome. And having amazing ideas - like the Eponina/Éponine 'parallels'. If you're out there, make yourself known so I can give you the credit you deserve for that stroke of genius. **

**Also do you think it's a little fast paced? They're not in love...yet, but is it unlikely that they'd become friends in an evening? Review lovelies, I'll be writing chapter 2**


	2. An Awkward Conversationalist

**Wow! I'm really overwhelmed by the number of favourites, follows and of course, reviews! You all make me so happy! And to those who said it was going too fast, don't worry, I agree. I promise to try and slow it down from here onward. I just didn't want it to drag on. So they're friends, as good as you can be for two people with similar interests who have talked for as long as they did.**

"Combeferre?"

"Enjolras?"

"Why exactly did we bring her to _my_ flat?"

"Because it was nearest," Joly chimed in.

The three young men were sitting in the spare bedroom, Éponine lying on the bed, as Joly patched her up. She had numerous gashes – mostly on her back, bruises everywhere and he suspected a broken rib and wrist. Gavroche was in the living room, sleeping after they had fed him.

"Boys, _boys_, quieten down." A short, matronly woman came bustling through the door, carrying clean linen.

"Madame Bellrose," Combeferre addressed Enjolras' landlady. "What brings you here?"

"Why, I heard that a young lady was injured. I came to help,"

"Madame, there was really no need..." Enjolras began.

Madame Bellrose raised her eyebrows. "And I won't leave her here alone with you young gentlemen..."

Combeferre began to laugh at Enjolras' reaction. His eye had grown wide at Mme. Bellrose's implication and his mouth was slightly ajar.

"Well, I wouldn't leave Arielle alone with you lot in such a state. Where is that girl, anyway? She was supposed to be coming with me."

"I'm here, _Maman_." A pretty girl, with dark curly hair, but slightly brown skin, came into the room carrying a tray with a pot of steaming tea on it. She was young – no older than twenty-three.

"Well I never," Combeferre stated in mock shock, "Mademoiselle Arielle Bellrose is able to cook something. To think I should live to see the day!"

"Monsieur Combeferre, I assure you, I am a capable cook. I am merely rarely inclined to do so. I have other things to do to occupy myself; reading, or writing to my dear brother for example." Arielle set the tea – accompanied by biscuits, down on the table, remaining calm and collected. "And I'm sure less could be said for your friend Grantaire. Where is he at this moment?"

"Probably with his most recent belle," Joly said, looking up from where he had finished stitching Éponine's shoulder.

"Oh, I pity that poor girl. To have to put up with his terrible habits."

"If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you were jealous, Arielle."

She 'hmphed' and went back to pouring tea. Mme. Bellrose watched this exchange with interest, and when the tea had been distributed, she resumed her motherly air.

"Now, boys, go and entertain yourselves elsewhere while we look after..."

"Éponine."

"Éponine. Now shoo!" And she swept them out of the door.

* * *

When Éponine opened her eyes, a hazy golden mist blurred her vision. She could see two figures – female ones, she assumed, due to the rustling of skirts, moving around her bed. She tried to rub her eyes, but a sharp pain in her shoulder made her fall back against the pillows. Where was she?

"_Maman_! She's awake!"

Éponine blinked a couple of times and her vision cleared. She was in a spacious room, sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"Good morning dear!" A plump woman was bustling around the room, throwing open the curtains and windows, airing the room.

"Madame..."

"Bellrose."

"Madame Bellrose... I don't want to sound rude, but where am I?"

"Why, you're in Antoine's flat. I'm his landlady."

"Antoine?"

"You'll probably know him as Enjolras," the second woman said. She was younger but not much taller. "I'm Arielle. I help Maman with her tenants. "

"I'm Éponine, but I suppose you already know that. Uh... What happened?"

Arielle sat down by the bed. "Monsieur's Enjolras, Combeferre and Joly brought you here. Your brother showed them to where you were,"

"Garvoche!" Éponine pushed herself up. Her arm smarted and she realised it was bandaged. "Where is he?"

"Don't worry. He's in the living room. He's been fed and rested. Joly patched you up last night and you've been resting ever since,"

"And what time is it now?"

"Around midday."

Éponine gasped. "I have to get up. I can't stay here."

"You'll be staying here until you're better young lady," Mme. Bellrose was firm. Éponine could tell not to argue. Madame Bellrose left the room, humming.

Arielle glanced at the door. "She should be going back up to our flat." She walked over to the small wardrobe in the corner and threw open the door. She gathered a dress from inside it – a simple white day gown – and brought it over. "I hope you don't mind wearing one of my old gowns – they're slightly shabby, but they haven't had to be mended yet."

Éponine smiled. "It's lovely, thank you!"

"Here, I'll help you get dressed."

Arielle supported Éponine as she scrambled into the underclothes – all her old clothes had been reduced to shreds – and into the dress. She helped Éponine wash the grime out of her hair and brushed it up into a simple bun. "I'd always long for a sister when I was a child," Arielle explained when she was doing Éponine's hair. Éponine didn't say anything. A small part of her wished she could stay, but she knew she would have to go back eventually.

"There," Arielle sounded proud of herself. "You're done."

Éponine looked at the mirror by the door. A slightly gaunt, but clean face stared back. A few wisps of dark hair had escaped from the bun, and although her waist looked painfully thin, she was warm and decently covered. "I…" she didn't have any words to say. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Would you like lunch? Enjolras and Combeferre should be back soon. They may bring some of their friends with them. Can you cook?"

* * *

Enjolras couldn't concentrate. He had been thinking about Éponine. Not like _that. _He had been wondering.

'_Why was she bleeding like that? Who did it to her? What are her secrets?'_

It just wasn't right. She must've been attacked. Attacked or beaten. And he knew he couldn't ask her, he knew she wouldn't open up to anyone, least of all him

When he arrived back at the flat, Joly, Combeferre and Courfeyrac in tow, warm, delicious smells greeted his nostrils. In the kitchen Arielle had taken charge and was making a stew, which Éponine was stirring. Her arm was in a sling, and she was sitting on a chair, but she looked slightly better than she had the night before. When Joly saw her, he nearly fainted. "Éponine…Your bandages… You were supposed to be in bed!"

"She couldn't have stayed in bed all day," Arielle looked up from where she was laying the table. "And she isn't overexerting herself,"

Joly finally admitted defeat. They sat down to eat – the stew was surprisingly good, especially considering the fact that Arielle disliked cooking, and rarely ever did.

After the meal and dishes had been cleared away Arielle, Combeferre, Joly and Courfeyrac retreated to the living room, leaving Enjolras and Éponine alone.

"Éponine, I just want to say…" he didn't know how to put what he wanted to say into words. He had never been very good at making conversation. Big speeches, no problem, but intimate chat between himself and another person – a woman especially, he found more difficult. To talk and not offend them or slip into a monologue was something he found tricky, except with his friends. "You're welcome to stay here – you and Gavroche – for as long as you may need." Truthfully, he was struggling somewhat as it was. His parents had threatened to cut him off and most of the money he had was being spent on weapons for the upcoming revolution. He did what he did mostly out of kindness. Kindness and pity. He was a little lost in thought, and almost didn't notice Éponine speaking. "I don't want to impose Monsieur…"

"No, you're a friend, and I'd like to help."

"Thank you, Enjolras."

In the doorway, Arielle and the others watched this brief conversation unnoticed.

"They'd make a very pretty couple, don't you think?" she murmered.

"Arielle, you're mad you know that?" Courfeyrac stated under his breath.

"Yes, but they would."

"If Enjolras could forget about his ever undying love for _Patria_," Combeferre whispered.

"We'll see."

**Okay, your review make me so so so happy. Keep 'em coming! Other updates may not be so fast, but you never know…**


	3. The Origin of Apollo

**Asdfghjkl;, all these reviews/faves/follows are making me giddy!**

Over the next few weeks Éponine recovered and filled out, due to the regular meals she was having. She also became something of a Housekeeper to Enjolras, flitting around the flat doing a bit of cleaning, and always having a meal ready for when he came back from University. He had at first tried to tell her she needn't bother, but she had insisted. It was the least she could do to thank him and besides, she didn't have much else to do, being confined to the house.

It was during one dinner, and Arielle, Combeferre, Joly, Courfeyrac and Grantaire were visiting, when Marius decided to appear. Arielle and Grantaire were bickering;

"Grantaire. Why do you feel the need to drink incessantly?"

"Eh? No one else has a problem with it, Arielle."

"But we're having _dinner. _Could you perhaps at least have the courtesy to wait until _afterwards?"_

"_No."_

Then there was a gentle knocking on the door. Enjolras went to answer it. Soon after he returned. Éponine's heart stopped for the briefest moment. "_Salut, _Marius."

"Éponine!" Marius barely seemed to notice her sling. "I've been looking for you! I have another message for Cosette – I'd be so grateful if you could deliver it for me!" he passed her another creamy-coloured note. "Thank you Éponine." Though she hadn't said anything and with that he left.

Enjolras was the first to move. He ran his hands through his already messy, sandy curls. "I… How did he not notice that you're injured?" He was shocked and, deep down, annoyed. Marius was completely and utterly oblivious to anything – and anyone, other than Cosette. As he was saying this, Arielle gently guided the other students out of the room, leaving Éponine and Enjolras alone again.

"Enjolras… I don't mind."

"But he is awful towards you."

"He doesn't mean to."

"That isn't an excuse. You're hurting yourself."

"Well, when did Monsieur Antoine Enjolras become such an expert on human emotion," she teased, but her voice lacked conviction. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and deliver this letter."

"Let me accompany you."

"Enjolras, please. I have to go alone."

"_Please."_

"_Enjolras."_

She gathered her borrowed shawl and left. As before, Arielle and the other men watched unnoticed from the doorway.  
"Do you think he may love her?" Arielle sounded like a young girl again, reading a romance.

"He may." Combeferre mused.

"He just doesn't know it yet."

"Who'd have thought Monsieur Grantaire would think about something other than his bottle."

"Hilarious Arielle, _hilarious."_

* * *

The rain was pouring down as Éponine left from where she'd delivered Cosette's letter. A single tear slid down her face. The pavement glistened in the downpour and she hummed to herself. Suddenly, unexpectedly, an arm appeared at her throat.

"Well, look who decided to turn up."

Montparnasse.

"What do you want?" she hissed.

"You."

She stamped on his foot.

"ARGH! You little…Your father wants you t'come home. He don't want you t'be associating with those bourgeoisie boys anymore."

"And what if I don't want to come home?"

"We'll make ya'." He began to drag her up the street. She struggled and kicked – conveniently landing her foot in his groin. He doubled over and let go of her hair. She ran. She ran and ran until she was sure she'd put enough distance between herself and Montparnasse. Bruised and bleeding, her broken wrist out of its sling, she curled up in a ball in the shadows and started to cry.

* * *

Back at his flat, Enjolras began to panic. The logical, rational part of him kept repeating the same phrase; _'Éponine can take care of herself, she's been out alone on the streets before.'_

But a small, emotional, suppressed part of him was worrying. _'What if she's been attacked? What if she's injured again and needs help?'_

This was the nagging worry that drove him out of his warm apartment into the freezing rain and what made him search for Éponine, a girl who, a month ago, he wouldn't have looked at twice.

He had almost given up looking and was about to return to his flat, defeated, when he noticed a small shape hunched in the dark shadows. It was Éponine and she was unconscious. With a gentleness unexpected from the marble Apollo, leader of the revolutionaries, he lifted her up and carried her, like a child, back to his apartment.

She was again, lying in the spare bed, semi-unconscious. Enjolras sat by her bedside, watching her.

"I suppose I should tell you a bit about myself. As you aren't able or willing to talk about yourself." He didn't know why he was talking to her. He knew she couldn't hear him. "As you know, my name is Antoine Enjolras. I was born and raised in Nice. My mother died when I was five – it was a serious illness. My sisters – Clémence and Marie, who were newborns and Madeleine, who was two, cannot remember her. My father remarried. She acted as if she loved us and cared when she was in front of Father, but in actuality, she hated us. It was as if we were no better than the dirt she had cleared from the house. Then, when I was eighteen I met Josette. At the time I thought she was wonderful, and I thought she thought the same about me. But, after a couple of months, she left and I never heard from her again. I left for university and realised that _Patria _will only ever be my mistress. And here I am."

Éponine rolled over in her sleep and muttered.

"_Marius."_

**I was actually tempted to leave it at 'Montparnasse', but then I wanted to go on with a bit of Enjolras' backstory. Yes, I made one up, don't judge. That review button down there looks a little sad and forgotten (On its ownnn… Pretending you're sending in reviews…). So, I expect some paragraphs about this chapter, what you think of Enjolras' backstory… I LOVE YOU ALL!**


	4. And if Daphne loved Apollo?

**Thank you all for the support. To those who were upset she didn't mutter Enjolras, don't worry – there's still plenty of opportunity for that *cue evil laughter*. Also, have I got you shipping Grantaire/Arielle yet? Also, be warned. You are now stepping into heavy E/É territory now. This is the point of no return.**

It was still dark when Éponine woke up. She looked around. She was in the spare bedroom at Enjolras' apartment. The last thing she remembered was running from Montparnasse. Enjolras must've found her and carried her back. She looked to the chair, which now had a permanent home by her bed, and there he was, slumped and asleep. His blond curls fell over his face and in the darkness his strong features were softened. He looked much more like his twenty-two years than he did awake. And certainly, very, _very_ handsome. How could she have not noticed that before? She reached out to brush a stray ringlet that had become tangled with his eyelashes. But... She was in love with Monsieur Marius... Wasn't she?

Marius. She was bitter. It was his fault she was in this mess. And he hadn't even noticed how she was injured, hadn't bothered to ask how she was. But, in one corner of her heart she still harboured a foolish, girlish affection for him. Withdrawing her hand, she fell back into the pillows.

"Good night, _Antoine_," she whispered and closed her eyes.

Enjolras woke up a few hours later. Luckily Éponine was still asleep. A lock of dark hair had fallen over her mouth. He smiled. She looked so peaceful sleeping. He gently brushed her soft hair off her face and left to his own room to get changed into clean clothes.

A steady throbbing pain in her wrist greeted Éponine when she woke up. She flexed it. It twinged, but not as acutely as it had before. It had healed. She swung her legs out of bed and went to bathe herself. She dressed in another of the dresses that Arielle had practically given her. It was a plain dark blue one, with a simple white collar. She swept her damp hair into a bun and was about to leave when she remembered the flowers that she and Arielle had bought to decorate her room. She took one – a large white rose –and tucked it into the base of her bun.

"You look lovely, Éponine," Enjolras gave her a rare smile when she entered the kitchen. Her stomach gave a little flutter.

"There's no need to tease, Monsieur."

"I'm not teasing." He walked towards her. "Éponine… I am going to be walking around the city today. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd love to, Enjolras." She looked him in the eye and felt that little flutter again. "Just let me get my shawl."

They were strolling, arm-in-arm, along the Seine.

"Éponine?"

"Yes?"

"Why – if you don't mind me prying – were you unconscious in the rain last night?"

"I… Gavroche seems to be happy, doesn't he?" Gavroche had been shifting between Enjolras' apartment, the elephant ("Gotta keep the others' morale up! They can't think I've abandoned them.") and The Bellroses' flat.

"_Éponine."_

Éponine was saved from answering by a call.

"Enjolras! Éponine!" It was Marius. He looked at their linked arms. "Are… Are you…?"

"Oh… No!" Enjolras quickly let go of her arm. Éponine's heart sank a little as it fell.

"No…"

"Oh… I thought… But nevermind. Enjoy your day! I'm going to see Cosette."

Cosette. Of course. Always Cosette. But, she didn't feel jealous. She was angry. Angry at Marius for not noticing her injuries, for thinking of Cosette all the time. But not jealous, or hurt. And that was when she realised. She didn't love him anymore.

**Yeah… sorry this is kind of short. And I'll be in Bath (the city) for the next two days, and won't be back until late on Sunday. But I'll try and have at least two chapters or one long one ready to upload when I can. Also, I'll post a link on my profile to a teaser from chapter 5 (a wordless comic strip) as a special treat! Review sweeties, I love reading big long paragraphs. Love you!**


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